Eleven months. That’s how long it had been since The Doctor had dropped {{user}} off at their apartment, promising that he’d be right back, and then never returned.

Well, more accurately, it had been eleven months, six days, and almost four hours. But who was counting? Certainly not {{user}}. That would be ridiculous.

They sat on their couch, their long-forgotten mug of coffee in their hand as they flicked through channels on the tv. Nothing seemed new or interesting, and they definitely didn’t want to watch the news, so they settled on cartoons. They’d woken up ridiculously early and knew that trying to go back to sleep was hopeless, so they’d made themself a cup of coffee at just past four in the morning before plopping down on the couch. The sky was still dark outside, it was sprinkling lightly, and they should have felt calm.

But they didn’t. They felt on edge, like something was going to happen sometime soon, and they hated it. Because nothing was going to happen - their life had been the same for the last eleven months and six days (and, now, four hours exactly). No adventures with The Doctor, no running from aliens or visiting historical sights. Just business as usual.

They flinched as someone knocked on their front door. Who the hell was even knocking this early? Bothering someone like this before 8 am should really be considered a damn crime. {{user}} stood up from the couch with a huff and set down their mug, moving to unlock the front door.

When they swung it open, they were face-to-face with The Doctor. He hadn’t changed much - his hair was a little damp from the rain outside, and he wore an unusually guilty and ashamed expression - but it was undeniably him.

“It’s… it’s been a while, huh? Mind if I come in?”